Hush, Little Baby
by Slaughter Daughter
Summary: I tried to be good, I really did.  A look inside Near's mind, and the secret to why he's so emotionless.


**Warnings: Somewhat graphic sexual abuse. Graphic child abuse, and just all around a depressing and fucked up story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or any of its characters. **_**Obviously. **_

**A/N: Alright, so I know this isn't my best, but I haven't written any fan fictions for awhile. And it usually gets on my nerves when people don't use quotations when a character is speaking, but this is supposed to be a memory of Near's so I didn't find it necessary, and it just didn't seem to fit right.**

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><p>I tried to be good, I really did.<p>

I was quiet, unmoving, obedient, barely even there. _Barely alive. _But it didn't matter, everything I did was wrong. Daddy didn't like it when I made noise, when I spoke. _Hush, baby, _Mama would say, _You know Daddy will be angry if you cry. _

No, I couldn't ever cry. All children cried, though, it was in their nature. But I had to be better than other children, but I was so small, so young, and so fragile. _So broken._ How could I live up to his standards? I couldn't.

_(I'm still broken.)_

_I'm sorry, Daddy! I didn't mean it! Please don't be mad! _But he was always mad, and I was never good enough. I was only three, but that didn't matter to him. Three was old enough to speak, he said, so it was old enough to endure pain- to be punished.

_Pain, pain, pain._

Searing and red hot up my tiny spine. Coiling like a snake around its prey. I wasn't normal. Normal boys didn't have white hair and grey eyes. Normality was important to Daddy. Normal was perfection. I was humanoid, he told me, a disgrace. I had to be punished until I could be normal.

Bruises littered my skin, but no one ever noticed. He never hit my face. He was smarter than that. Long sleeves and pants all year round. I had to cover myself so no one would know. Mama knew, though. But Mama never told. I wasn't human, though, so why would she?

_Mama, hold me. I'm scared. _

ButMama's too busy hiding from Daddy. Daddy has a knife in his hand, Daddy's face is red, and he reeks of cigarette smoke and the whiskey that he drinks. And I hid, I hid like the small child I was, shaking and, crying, gripping my teddy with all the strength I had.

But he found me. _He always found me._

_Stop crying, you worthless albino piece of shit! _

_Daddy, Daddy, I'm sorry! I'll be better! I'll be normal, I promise!_

Words are meaningless. They slipped from my lips then as if they had purpose. As if they could make the pain stop.

The red oozed out of me, out of the wounds on my stomach, coating my tender flesh. Gash, after gash, he carved me up until he thought that my skin was pure enough. Because I wasn't pure. Children are born pure, are born innocent, but not me. I was a disease.

But I still wasn't good enough. He still couldn't make me pure.

_No! No! _I cried as Daddy dropped his pants and bent me over, Mama left weeping in the closet where she stood frozen, paralyzed.

_I'm so sorry! I can change, I'll be good, I swear! I didn't mean to make you mad, Daddy! I'll be a good boy for you, Daddy!_

But he didn't listen, he didn't care.

_Good boys don't make noise, _He hissed in my ear as he shoved into me. Pain, icy and hot at the same time, shot through out my fragile body as he broke it in. Break me down so you can build me up. But you never built me back up, Daddy. You just tore me down.

_Down, down, down, _the blood dripped, running over my quivering thighs and onto the floor. Tainting it with my abnormality, with my impurity.

Daddy taught me not to show emotion. Daddy taught me not to cry. Daddy taught me to hate humanity.

Daddy haunts my dreams every night, his lullaby still ringing in my ears.

_Hush, little baby, don't make a sound, just quiet your cries as Daddy throws you to the ground. Hush, little baby, don't make a move, because Daddy isn't ever through with you…_

He's never through with me.

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><p><strong>AN: This hopefully didn't make anyone too depressed, but I reread the book Living Dead Girl by Elizabeth Scott and I also just started thinking about Near's past, and I don't know, this popped into my head as to why he's so emotionless. All my stories are quite fucked up, I've noticed… -.-**


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